Now, Abbot Ci had buried the little one in the vegetable garden. But when he returned for a look he was shocked to see the tiny infant parting the lumps of sod and, amazingly, tunneling up to the surface, its head protruding like a large peach. The frightened Abbot picked up his hoe to smash the little monster but he lost his balance and tripped, and the handle seperated from the would-be weapon's head. When he picked himself up and looked the child was already sitting upright in a nest, beaming broadly and amiably. Abbot Ci, whose surname meant 'mercy', couldn't believe his eyes.
"Little fellow," he said, "it's such a pity that you've got a human form. Why, if you'd been born to some childless gentry family you'd light up their lonely nights with joy and love. Why did you have to find your way into that egg? Well, you started out on the wrong track but it's no concern of mine. Now, listen to old Father Ci. Forgo this life and return to the spirit world, and stop frightening me!"
Then putting aside the broken hoe he seized the nest and turned it upside down, thrusting that ghostly infant down into the earth. Scooping up some muddy soil he built a mound, higher and higher, and piled rocks on top of it. He didn't stop until he was sure the job had been done right.
"What if a dog should get in here and dig it up?" he asked himself; "That wouldn't be any good. I'd better lock the gates for awhile. That way he'll die of hunger if nothing else..." So he attached a metal hasp to the gate and went into the house to get a shiney new brass lock. "I'll be right back," he told his disciples, "start your devotions without me." And because the Abbot was known for being a bit stubborn and cantankerous, the baffled novices didn't care to ask any questions.
By and by, ten days had passed when Abbot Ci finally put his worries to rest. "I've seen with my own eyes that the kid hasn't budged," he thought. "Still, I'd better keep an eye on things just to be sure. But if this gate stays locked too long the garden will fall into neglect, and we won't have any greens to eat."
He then took out a key and unlocked and opened the garden gate. But when he went over to that corner of the west wall for a look, he saw the stones scattered all over and the overturned nest lying on its side, with no sign inside of the little tyke. Now, Abbot Ci was sorely afraid. Then when he dropped on all fours to search he suddenly saw the little fellow, healthy and red-cheeked as could be, sitting uninjured beneath a willow tree. And what was more, he'd already become two feet tall, with delicate, recognizable features, although he couldn't yet talk. Seeing Abbot Ci approach he reached out and laughingly clutched at the corner of the old monk's jacket. This was more than the Abbot could take. Snatching the little hand away he turned and ran without daring to look back. Even safely outside the garden his heart continued pounding.
"I've tried everything to bury him," he darkly thought, "but again and again some sort of supernatural being or force rescued him. Otherwise, how could that wee-tiny fellow muster up enough strength to struggle out of the grave? And even if he could bore up through the sod, how could he have parted the rocks? What's more, he's grown more than a foot in the past ten days; twenty or thirty years of this and he'll break the sky! Of all the confounded things that have happened since ancient times there's never been anything quite like this!" Then an idea came to him. "Well, the spirit of the statue of Guanyin in the Temple is always so accurate at divination; I'd better go and ask her about this. Perhaps he ought to be raised to maturity...maybe he's really a future sage or bonze. In any case it's not for us to annihilate him on our own. But on the other hand, if he really shouldn't stay in this world there's no time to be wasted in thinking up a new plan to get rid of him."
Now, this Zen Temple had always had an incense altar carved in the shape of the Goddess Guanyin. And in front of this holy likeness was a container for bamboo fortune slips; folks could pick them and determine wheter or not a particular undertaking was auspicious at a particular time or place. Now, as Abbot Ci was indeed at his wits' end the only thing left to do was to draw a slip from the container and kowtow in front of the statue.
"Your disciple," he loudly declared, "has always been a man of the cloth and kept the commandments. But one day I must have had a lapse of faith, for while drawing water from the pond I came upon an egg and took it over to my neighbor's house to be hatched by his old hen. Who'd have thought that egg would hatch forth a little human rascal that would survive burial and starvation and would then double in height suddenly, growing taller and taller by leaps and bounds! How strange are his origins and how bizarre his traces; if he isn't a devil he's certainly the embodiment of some unrepaid evil. If he was sent by Heaven to be a bonze and if he should live without harm, I beg thee to indicate 'auspicious' on the augury slip, and to thus remove my doubts. Again, I kowtow and pray for thy guidance!"
His prayerful petition finished, he bowed toward the fortune-slip container, plucked one out and looked. It was number fifteen, and sure enough it bore the words "Highly Auspicious". And the following magic charm had been written:
Abbot Ci carefully examined the writing on the slip. "The 'drifting cradle' here clearly refers to an orphan," he said. "Even though my disciples are already like my own offspring, this fortune clearly tells me to spare the child and foretells no difficulty," He then called for the Daoist Rector of the Temple, Liu Gour.
"Some village family," he told the old man, "with too many mouths to feed has just abandoned one of their children in our garden. I've just seen him sitting under the willow, cutest little fellow you can imagine! What a pity. We bonzes have enough trouble making ends meet, so why don't you take the child and rear it? If he reaches adulthood maybe he'll take vows himself, and you'll have someone to rely on in your old age."
Now, our Liu Gour had once barely earned a living as a local farmer; he was childless due to late marriage, in old age, and his wife was now dead. So having cursed his worldly fate he gave up his life savings of a few ounces of silver and entered the Temple to become its incense tender. Because he had no kids of his own he often minded other people's children; this was the joy of his life. Hearing what Abbot Ci had to say, he hopped right over to the base of the willow and sure enough saw a cute, delicate-featured child. He quickly held the little bundle of happiness up to his chest, wrapped it up in his jacket and turned toward the gate, where he saw the Abbot walking toward him. Now, Abbot Ci was happy to the bottom of his heart to see the old Daoist hugging the child.
"Go to your quarters," he told Liu, "I'll be right along." He then opened the gate and removed the lock for good, taking it to his room. Then he pulled an old jacket and tattered shirt from the dresser next to his bed, brought them to the priest's room and together they bundled up the child.
"We've got quite a few clothes old clothes in here too," said Liu. "And I've also manage to save a few feet of blue cloth, just perfect to make a little coat for him to wear." But alas, without any milk I'm afraid he'll starve."
"Oh, milk's no problem," said the Abbot. "All we need to do is boil up some soybean milk morning and night and feed it to him. If he's become your son, it must be that he's fated to live. Anyway, if he doesn't survive, sure, it'll be hard to take, but even that would be better than simply having left him to starve." Then he continued on a solemn note of encouragement: "One's thoughts and deeds are known by Heaven and Earth, so if you, old man, are willing to take in and raise this child it'll surely be recognized as a good deed, and God will help you in all his glory. Why, I've just asked about our Fate in this matter at the idol of Guanyin and was told that it was all highly auspicious. When he gets a bit older let's name him "Ji'r" for "Lucky Boy".
"I really love this little fellow's happy face," said the old Daoist incense tender; "he only knows to smile and he never cries. Why, from the first time I held him and brought him in from the garden he hasn't uttered a sound."
"It's the quiet child that's easy to raise" answered Abbot Ci. As they went on talking and doting over the baby, in came a young novice. Having seen the little fellow he ran to inform his colleagues, and three or four young Bonzes then rushed into the old Daoist's quarters, taking up half the room.
"Where did this kid come from?" asked the group as one.
"We don't really know quite whose child it is," answered the abbot. "He was abandoned in the garden. I thought he looked like a nice little fellow and I took pity on his fate, so I asked Old Liu here to take him and raise him as his own son."
Now in the Temple there were those who loved good and those who were evil at heart.
"Amitofo!" the kind ones cried out. "The opportunity to raise an orphan and save its life is indeed a blessing for our Temple."
The evil ones, predictably enough, saw the darker side of things. "What sort of family would abandon their own flesh and blood," they harped; "no doubt it was some unmarried woman who got involved in a messy affair and got herself in trouble with child. Afraid that folks would find out about the little bastard, she threw him away. What business is it of ours that we should take him in? Why get involved?"
"There's no need for that kind of talk" said the good ones; "we know what kind of homes these children come from. Most likely it was a couple fated to die without children, so his parents didn't feel the natural burning desire to raise him and continue their line. Or perhaps he was born of a housemaid or concubine and was abandoned on account of the main wife's jealousy. There's no surname on his forehead, so what dispute is there to get involved in?"
"Okay then, take him and raise him if you will," said the evil at heart, "but outsiders will hear his crying from inside the Temple; that won't be good for our image!"
"All right, all right, enough!" said Old Liu. "This fellow does have one good point; he doesn't cry at all!"
The monks were silent. "I'm leaving now," said Abbot Ci, "and I want all of you to go to your prayermats and sit quietly. There'll be no more jostling here in this room." And having had his say he left, and the bonzes, sensing his displeasure, dispersed to their quarters. And sure enough here's a poem for proof:
So it happened that the old priest took in the infant and raised him as his own son. Day and night he prepared soybean milk to feed him, but as the boy grew tired of this he tried giving the tot a bit of gruel. Now, the little fellow took this without illness or complaint, so from that point on the old priest fed him from his own rice porridge. With the passage of three or four months outsiders had all come to know that an infant had been found in the vegetable garden of the Yinghui Temple by the Abbot and that it had been given to Liu Gou'r to raise, and the story began to spread.
In time the tale reached Zhu Dabo, whom we read about in the previous chapter. "What kind of kid could they have found in the vegetable garden?" he asked himself. "It must be that freak that was hatched from the goose egg. Why, Abbot Ci didn't take care of killing it after all, and they're raising it in there. And he still hasn't repaid me for the chicken, eggs and nest I lost in that weird incident! Why don't I just go over and say I'm a bit short of grain and would like to be repaid with some? If I don't remind him I'm liable to to never get it back. At the same time I can see what the child looks like and whether or not it's indeed that little monster."
Zhu Dabo then walked over to the Temple holding a large sack. He found Abbot Ci sitting on the doorstep, needle in hand, sewing up that tattered jacket of his.
"Master," said Zhu, "I haven't seen you for awhile." Now, upon seeing his neighbor the Abbot remembered one of his old promises, tossed aside the garment and got up.
"I still haven't given you the wheat I owe you," he confessed.
"What's this about debts?" said Zhu Dabo, "I told you that was all right! It's just that a relative has come to live with us for a few days and I'm a bit short of grain. I wonder if you can lend me a little, that's all. Then out of the next harvest I'll thresh some wheat especially for you, Master!"
"I owe you grain," said the Abbot, "and you're entitled to it, period. Now you go home and wait, and I'll have someone bring it right over."
"No need to trouble anyone," said Zhu, "why, I've brought this double sack with me. Fill it up and I'll carry it back myself." He then presented the empty sack to the Abbot.
"Suit yurself," said the old monk, "wait here for a moment while I come back with it."
But Zhu Dabo had something else to request. "While I'm here, I want to check out the rumor about Liu Gou'r," he said. Now, the Abbot was afraid that old man Zhu would get in and see the child, that an argument would result and word of the affair would get out.
"Old Doggie's in the garden, hoeing," he said, referring to the meaning of the Daoist's personal name; "wait a moment, I'll call him over."
Abbot Ci, holding the sack in his left hand and that half repaired jacket in his right then tossed the garment over his left shoulder and walked back into the Temple gate. But Zhu Dabo was off and running right behind him! The Abbot rushed in and tried to slam the gate but it was no use; the old man had already thrust one foot inside.
"This is the monks' residence of a Zen Temple," the chief warned, anxiously; "you're no monk, what business do you have within these walls? You want only a few bushels of buckwheat, which I'm certainly not denying you. But I told you to wait outside the Temple entrance and you won't listen!"
Zhu Dabo opened his mouth wide, reared back and had a good laugh. "I've heard," he snickered between a few hearty guffaws, "that Liu Gou'r has custody of a little kid. I just want to see if it was born or hatched!"
Now, when Abbot Ci heard those words his face turned red with rage. "Go ahead and laugh, you bastard!" he retorted angrily. "Take your 'born or hatched' and blow it out your ass! Why, when that little fellow was found by the road he was two feet tall. Don't you think an egg like that would have taken a pretty big goose to lay? I wonder why you're so interested...why, hah hah, maybe you'd recognize him as your own grandson!" Throwing the sack down he continued: "Since you only want to see your grandson, I haven't got any more energy to carry your grain."
Zhu Dabo was surprised at how angry he had made Abbot Ci. "If you don't want me to see the kid that's OK," he answered, "there's no need for hurt feelings. Anyway, I figure that if you gave me the grain there wouldn't be enough left for you're disciples, that's all." Then he picked up his sack, beat the dust out of it, wheeled around and left.
"You didn't even want your grain!" Abbot Ci shouted after him, "A lot of guts you had, asking me to carry it for you, too!" Then, an icey smile on his lips, he shut the gate.
"In all my years," mumbled Zhu Dabo as he left the Temple, "I've never come across such a 'holy man'. What a fiery temper and stubborn character! Why, I was only joking when I said 'born or hatched' but he had to get excited and say all those things. He's really wounded me deeply!"
Now all of the neighbors saw him returning, angrily cursing under his breath. "What did they refuse you that you are coming back so angrily?" they asked.
"It's a long story," he said, "but here goes. Late last last winter that Abbot Ci brought over a goose egg. He told me my hen could hatch it for me to keep, so I gave it to the bird to sit on for awhile. Who'd have ever thought that a six or seven inch child would hatch from that egg?"
"Did such a thing really happen?" asked the incredulous neighbors.
"I still can't quite believe it myself," said Zhu. And it wasn't enough that the infant was born; my hen died too, and a nestful of eggs were all ruined. So I went and brought over the Abbot and what did he say? He told me to keep quiet lest I involve him in big trouble, and that next year when the wheat would ripen he'd give me some. Then he snatched up the little monster in the ruined nest and took them away. I thought he'd drowned the little beast or at least buried it somewhere. But later I heard that Liu Gou'r is raising a little kid, and I suspected it may have been the same child. So today I took a sack over to the Temple to collect my grain and have a peek at the little fellow while I was at it. Well, not only did I get no grain, but I got cursed out in the bargain! He told me something unspeakably vile, and to come in and see my own grandson! Now, the leaves of the tallest trees must fall to their roots, and that's often been said about people, too. I sure hope that child never grows up for if it does it's sure to come back home. And then God only help me if it thinks I'm its maternal grandfather!"
"You'd really better shut up, old man," said one of the neighbors, "that's really strange stuff and we'll hear no more of it! Why, that old bonze has great vision and wisdom, so have some patience and understanding. What kind of gripe do you have that's made you tell such a story? Wait a few days and we'll persuade the Abbot to give you the wheat, so calm down for Heaven's sake!" Then everybody chimed in with a few words and they managed to persuade Zhu Dabo to return home. And here's a poem about it:
Now let's get back to Abbot Ci. Having had his outburst at Zhu Dabo, he instructed Old Liu to never again carry the little fellow outside. And at the age of one he was take to to have his head shaved before the statue of Buddha; from that time on he had the name of Ji'r and was a junior bonze in the Temple. Now, because Zhu Dabo had told all the neighbors about the hatching of the goose egg, rumors had flown all around. All the monks had heard them and the Abbot could do nothing about it. So they all also called him "Bonze Dan", meaning "Bonze Egg".